


Shadowrun: Project Trident

by wubsydubsy



Category: Original Work, Shadowrun
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wubsydubsy/pseuds/wubsydubsy
Summary: In a world of worlds, where advanced technology and powerful magic collide, a team of street criminals known as Shadowrunners struggle to survive against the oppressive might of megacorporations. When their latest heist takes a disastrous turn, the runners must enlist the aid of a mysterious benefactor, who offers them a chance to escape the shadows for good. But as the job grows more treacherous by the day, suspicions mount, and alliances are tested. Soon the crew find themselves embroiled in a vast conspiracy, at the center of which lies the question - what constitutes a soul?





	1. The Breath of God

“It looks like rain,” Simon said to his brother, who looked up to the sky and shrugged. 

“No lightning, though. She can still fly.” Peter was Simon’s older brother and only friend. He had thick black hair, burnished brown skin, and sleek glasses. With a flick of his wrist, an array of blue lights danced along the body of the Pufferfish - a beach-ball sized metal pod with stabilizing fins, which Peter had built as a gift for Simon. The drone hummed to life and took flight. The boys watched intently as it zipped off down the lawn, away from the stylish and sprawling modern mansion they called home, towards the surrounding woods. When it was far enough away, just before reaching the tree line, the drone swiveled, swimming lazily through the air.

“Alright.” Peter whispered dramatically, squatting down to match his brother’s height, “Check your targeting gram. Aim where it's going. That’s it… easy does it.” Simon raised his arms as if holding an imaginary rifle. His AR visor placed a cartoonish old-timey gun in his hands, and he drew a bead on the Pufferfish. BLAM! The visor played a victorious melody and the drone flopped to the ground as programmed.

“Noice!” Simon’s point was met with raucous celebration. As the boys laughed and debated who's turn it was next, their father ran breathlessly out from the sliding glass door on the side of the manor. He wore a pristine lab coat and an uncharacteristic smile. 

“Peter, it's working! It’s… well don’t just stand there, come and see!” Peter dashed to the house, yelling over his shoulder as he went. “Go get the Pufferfish, quick!” Simon rolled his eyes and stomped off to collect the drone. As he turned back with the little robot in tow, he felt the ground rumble, and was suddenly met with an ear shattering explosion. The force blew him off his feet, pain charging through the arm he had instinctively raised in defense.

Simon clutched his burnt limb and stood up, panicked, to see the windows of his house blown out. The structure somehow remained, but fire had begun to lap up the exterior walls. The paint peeled off in large flakes. A support beam cracked and split, and a section of the roof gave way. Noxious smoke billowed out from any opening it could find. A body lay prone on the ground amid shards of broken glass and splintered wood. Simon limped toward the house as raindrops fell. 

“Dad!?” the boy cried as he collapsed by his father’s side. The man’s right leg was mangled, and the flesh below his ribs was scorched and peppered with jagged shards. Still, he was able to prop himself up. “My work... Peter... Gone.” Simon sat on the wet grass next to his father. They watched through tear-filled eyes as the blaze consumed their home.


	2. Zero-Day Exploit

The Mitsuhama Arcology in Boston was a crowning achievement in end-stage capitalist engineering. Half apartment complex, half shopping center, the neo-brutalist megastructure loomed high above its metropolitan surroundings like a watchtower over a prison yard. The lower floors were open to the public, luring in consumers of every stripe with innumerable stalls and kiosks. Datajacks, two-for-one special! The hottest trideo content east of the Free State! Colt, Beretta, Ares arms for sale – get yours before they get you! Vendors shouted over one another from beneath shimmering logos, calling to the crowd, itching to make a sale. The plascrete aisles swelled with salaryfolk, unblinking as they shuffled inexorably from one neon edifice to the next, and the next, and the next. 

Above the bustle and commerce, each rung held dozens of apartments, circling ever upward, forming a steel funnel leading to an uncovered oculus at the top of the structure.  
The upper levels of the Arcology were home to those left behind by society. A single mother corralled her children as they ran squealing along the rusted railing. A man and woman came to blows outside their tenement over a matter of stolen dreamchips. Two Dwarves stared down the precipitous chasm that divided the building, cracking jokes and spitting on the shoppers far below. Convenience and necessity brought them here; inequity and despair kept them. Together and alone, packed side by each tighter than nanosmokes in a carton, people carved out lives for themselves among the rafters. 

On the lowest residential landing stood a truly massive man, large even by Troll standards, lost in thought. He had a stony gray complexion, and was completely bald except for two bushy brows that sat low over his warm, orange eyes. A trench coat the size of a schooner’s sail draped over his shoulders and fell to his knees, concealing his prized hand canon, a Remington Roomsweeper, holstered on his hip. A dark thought crossed the Troll’s mind, causing him to grimace, then frown, then sigh, then shrug. His commlink buzzed, calling him back to reality. 

“Mr. Creech? You still alive up there?” 

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” said Mr. Creech. “Are we all where we should be?”

In the throng below, Mr. Creech spied one of his compatriots. The young man was hard to miss, sporting an undercut hairstyle that changed color in time with his cyberware. Luminous circuitry traced his chest and upper arms, forming a glowing lattice beneath his faux-leather vest. The decker leaned casually against a booth, feigning interest in a piece of scrap tech. “DosBoy here! In position, ready to crack and jack!”

“Could you be subtle for once? You’re going to get us all killed.” Across the room by the entrance to a general store, a wiry Elf dressed in billowing black pants and sleeves chimed in over the comm. She had a sinister presence that could be felt even through digital transmission, and DosBoy couldn’t hide a shiver. “Sinera, in position.”

Beside the Elf was a dashing Ork, so rakishly handsome that he could almost be forgiven for gazing so lovingly at his own face in the storefront window. “Come on, Sin, give the kid a break. We all deal with the anticipation in different ways. DosBoy talks, you menace, Creech chews his own mouth.”

Mr. Creech clicked his tongue. “And you preen. Sound off, Zevran.”

Zevran reluctantly tore himself away from his reflection. “In position, obvi.”

“That just leaves the infant.” Sinera sneered. “What was it again? Biscuit?”

“Wait–” DosBoy looked around frantically. “I swear, she was just here!”

A human girl in her teens with choppy red bangs had sidled up next to Mr. Creech without him noticing. She startled him when she spoke. “Cookie. In position.”

Mr. Creech put his hands on his hips, and turned to meet the girl’s wide-eyed gaze. “Cookie,” he said delicately, “We need you down there. Remember the plan?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Cookie attempted a smile, failed, then drifted toward the stairs. Mr. Creech shook his head as he watched her fumble with the door handle before making her way back down. “Don’t be sorry.” he said, “Be careful.” 

Mr. Creech took one last look over the busy floor. A column of daylight fell through the center of the Arcology, illuminating some while casting others in deep shade. He gnawed absently at his lips with dull tusks, unable to shake the knot that had settled in the pit of his stomach. The team had been planning this job for weeks, and none of them could afford for things to go sideways now. 

“Are we doing this thing or what!?” DosBoy snapped over the comm. “I’m all charged up and my nodes are a-twitchin’!” 

“Ew.” Cookie muttered. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Creech as a grin crept across his mottled face. “On with the show.”

Zevran cinched his tie, then grabbed a large metal briefcase resting by his feet. He strolled through the mall, weaving in and out of the pedestrian traffic until he reached a seating area dividing the lanes. There, he sat on a bench with the case resting on his lap. With a wave of his hand, the lid opened to reveal a command console. The displays flickered to life, and the Ork set to work on the mechanical keys. After a quick system check, he executed a script. “Time to come out and play.” He gave Sinera a wink, signaling she was clear to act. 

“Finally,” she hissed. The Elf closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift, to become one with the chaotic living energy surrounding her. The crowd appeared to her as a vibrant wash of color and lights, and every individual glowed a subtly different hue. Scanning the floor, Sinera searched for a suitable target for her needs, eventually settling on a man with a swirling red aura. He was muscular and menacing, with so much chrome embedded in his body that his essence was fractured by static. As he passed by, Sinera jutted a slender leg out straight, causing the man to trip. He hit the ground hard, face first. Motors whined as he leapt to his feet, and he spun around to see who had made the fatal mistake of crossing him. He spotted Sinera, who greeted him with a frigid sneer. 

“You!” he growled, shoving aside bystanders as he approached the Elf. “You’re gonna regret that, knife-ear!” The man raised his humongous metal fist and swung. Sinera dipped low, dodging just in time as the punch tore a chunk out of the plascrete wall behind her. The unanticipated miss sent the cyborg off balance for an instant, and Sinera made her move. She placed a palm against his gut and unleashed a burst of invisible energy that rocketed the brute into the air. He came crashing back down, cratering the floor on impact. 

The passersby, wrenched from their digital stupor, stampeded away from the scene. Mr. Creech looked from on high as a troop of security guards rushed toward the action. They wore navy blue uniforms emblazoned with the Mitushama logo, and brandished electrified batons as they struggled to navigate the retreating mob. “That seemed to get their attention. DosBoy?” 

“On it, Creech!” In the commotion, DosBoy and Cookie had slunk over to a secure entrance hidden between two vendor stalls – a cold steel door, unlabeled, with no clear means of opening it from the outside. The pair ducked behind a rack of garish scarves as a guard hustled by. DosBoy touched his fingertips to the door, his eyes flitting as he scanned for a way in using his AR display. “Hm, decent hardware for a dirty old mall. This lock is no joke – might be a minute while I scum an access code… what is that?”

Cookie dangled a Mitsuhama security commlink over DosBoy’s head. The decker snatched it, flabbergasted. “Where…” he trailed off as Cookie motioned toward the guard that had just passed. DosBoy smirked. Data streamed directly from the device, through his wired implants, and into the door’s mechanism. The metal panel receded and slid aside, clearing the way to a dimly lit tunnel leading downward. “Kid, I owe you a drink. Are you old enough to drink yet? Eh, we’re already armed robbers, what’s a little reckless endangerment between friends? Let’s go!” 

DosBoy reported back to the team, comm crackling from interference. “We’re in. Signal’s drek down here, I’ll ping you once we reach the server.” 

The last of the civilians exited the Arcology as guards cleared the floor. The unlucky razorboy had clambered out of his hole in the ground and was shouting obscenities as he recalibrated for round two. Directing all his rage at Sinera, he failed to notice the guards approaching him from behind, weapons drawn. BZZT! The batons sparked on contact, sending a vicious jolt through the man’s body. Chrome plates on his arms and neck burst from their moorings, and the sour stink of burning circuitry filled the air. The man sputtered and gasped, fell to his knees, and finally succumbed with a hearty thump. 

“Vatjob neutralized,” said one of the guards flatly, turning his attention to Sinera. “Get the mage.” Security closed in on the Elf in a tight circle, backing her against a wall. Mr. Creech watched from his perch with clenched tusks. “Zevran…” he grumbled, placing a hand on the grip of his pistol. 

The guards rushed Sinera in unison – but just before they could strike, a howling blur plowed into them from the side, sweeping their legs and toppling them. A machine of sparkling gold, the size and form of a hound, had pounced. It clamped its steely jaws around a guard’s arm, eliciting a shriek of pain as the man struggled madly to break the beast’s bite. Zevran flashed a brilliant smile from behind his control rig, as he commanded his Doberman drone to sustain the assault. “Null sweat, big guy – reinforcements have arrived. Sick ‘em, Boogaloo!”

The Troll heaved a sigh of relief as the remaining Mitsuhama personnel were mopped up in a flurry of magic and mayhem. Mr. Creech had run the shadows with this crew for a few months now, and, against his better judgment, he had come to think of them all as capable allies – maybe even as friends. But he had been in this profession for a long time, longer than some of them had been on this Earth, and he had learned the key to surviving this life the hard way; trust no one, even friends. Especially friends. 

“Creech! Creech, can you hear me!?” DosBoy’s grating voice cut through the static. 

“I am here,” he replied.

DosBoy’s tone was fraught with excitement as he stood hunched over the floor-to-ceiling Arcology server, a thin cable running directly from his left temple to a port on the tower. “I’m siphoning the score now – hoo mama, gimme that sweet, sweet paydata – but when I dump, it’s gonna trip every alarm this place has. Be ready to scramble!” 

“Pity,” said Sinera, her boot pressed down on a hapless guard, “I was almost starting to enjoy myself.”

On cue, a klaxon blared throughout the Arcology, echoing up the dilapidated tiers to the skylight. The phosphorescent panels lining the walls flickered from pale yellow to flashing red. Mr. Creech drew his Roomsweeper from its holster and checked the breach for slugs. Down the landing behind him, a squadron of guards emerged, armed with riot gear and rifles. They spotted him and took aim. 

“That’s curtains, fellows!” Narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets, the Troll bounded over the railing and dropped to the floor below, reconvening with Zevran and Sinera. “Exit, stage left.” 

Deafened by the sound of gunfire and sirens, the three made their way past abandoned shops, dodging deadly rounds as they went. As they approached a curve leading to another section of the complex, DosBoy and Cookie poked their heads out from the tunnel doorway. 

“Did you get it!?” cried Zevran, grasping Cookie by the arm without breaking his stride. 

DosBoy matched pace, gleefully skipping behind them. “That and then some, fangs! We’re gonna be rich enough to buy our own fraggin’ grid!”.

“Only if we make it out of here alive!” Sinera shouted, pushing DosBoy forward, “Now move!”

The guards had reached the lower level and were bearing down on the runners. Mr. Creech skidded to a halt around the bend, reached beneath a wooden stall laden with holographic souvenirs, and with a mighty roar flipped the stand. The booth sailed toward the guards, smashing to pieces at their feet. This maneuver stumbled the pursuit, but another squad vaulted over the wreckage and opened fire. Bullets whizzed by, leaving pockmarks in the plascrete where they struck. 

As the beleaguered crew rounded yet another corner into yet another corridor of the facility, they whooped with glee to see daylight before them – but their escape route was closing fast. Steel panels, at least a meter thick, had begun to shutter on every window and door in the Arcology. Boogaloo sprinted ahead of the pack and pranced nervously by the egress, whimpering in modulated tones. 

By the time the runners reached the exit, the lockdown was complete. The metal wall slammed before them, securing itself with hydraulic pistons the size of redwood tree trunks. Mr. Creech slammed his fist in vain against the barrier. A handful of guards caught up to them, forcing the cornered criminals to take cover behind a bulky digital panel in the middle of the lobby. An advertisement showing an impossibly perfect human enjoying a soykaf latte played on the screen relentlessly despite the growing number of holes being blasted through the glass. 

“Mitushama Zero Zone protocol,” Cookie murmured, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “We’re not getting out of here alive.”

“At least we’ll die young and beautiful,” Zevran offered. “Well, I will, anyway…”

“We are not going to die here!” Mr. Creech yelled. He only yelled when he was afraid. “DosBoy! Cookie! See what can be done about that shutter! The rest of you, with me!”

The Troll took a low stance on the edge of the panel and loosed a few shots at the security team. They were well out of his range, but they didn’t know that, and the guards fell back to a more defensive position. Zevran joined in with his pistol, taking potshots at any sign of movement. 

While the guards were preoccupied, Cookie and DosBoy crawled to the bulkhead and scanned for something, anything, that they could use to open the door. DosBoy frowned. “Connected to remote grid, bad… no override code for local users, double bad…”

“Look”, whispered Cookie. She had discovered a possible vulnerability in the system, and transmitted a plan of attack to DosBoy’s HUD.

“Well slap my bottom and call me a Sinner!” he said, “Will that work?”

Cookie shrugged. “Could work. Could not.”

DosBoy rubbed his hands together, a manic grin scrawled across his face. “Only one way to find out, kid. Let’s dive in.” The pair allowed their minds to fully engage and intertwine with the overarching network. Leaving their physical shells behind, they entered the Matrix. 

Zevran crouched over his command rig as he piloted his faithful drone. Dancing between sprays of bullets, Boogaloo repelled the guards with flashes of blinding light emitted from its mouth. Mr. Creech managed to down a few of the gunners, then rolled behind cover to reload. When he did, a wave of guards seized the opportunity and poured down the wide staircase into the lobby, opening fire. Boogaloo’s chest was pierced through and through by a burst of shots. The drone crumpled. 

“No!” howled Zevran as he bolted out from behind the flickering ad panel. He stopped short and slipped backward to avoid another volley. Glass shards kicked up by the bullets’ impact rained over the Ork. 

“Sinera!” Mr. Creech barked as he slotted pressurized canisters into the Roomsweeper. 

Points of red light skittered across the translucent soykaf ad before centering on the dark shadow of the Troll. The guards marched forward in tight formation, ready to end this skirmish. The apparent leader raised his hand and prepared to signal, but was interrupted as a streak of white-hot lightning came screaming through the glass panel and struck him. The arc jumped instantaneously across the entire line of guards. Electricity coursed through them as they writhed in their scorched uniforms. 

Sinera held her arms outstretched over the melted remains of the glass display. Ribbons of violet energy swirled around her hands and spilled from her eyes in waterfalls. The Elf sustained the magical current for as long as her spirit could muster before buckling. By the time the lightning ceased, not a singled guard hit remained standing. 

She managed a wry smile, looking up as a dozen more uniformed men descended the staircase. Blood trickled out of her nose. “Well’s dry,” she rasped, “Another spell like that and I’m dust.”

Stepping in front of Sinera, Mr. Creech aimed his giant pistol at the bottom step of the stairs. The Roomsweeper uttered a hollow THWOOMP with each pull of the trigger, launching metal pods that left opaque smoke trails in their wake. The canisters popped on landing, and the lobby quickly filled with cloaking smog, reeking of burning rubber. Guards caught in the cloud wheezed as they shot blindly in every direction.

Holstering his empty weapon, Mr. Creech turned to the still-shuttered exit where DosBoy and Cookie’s bodies lay limp. “Hurry,” he said. 

Cookie and DosBoy zipped along a luminous wire ever deeper into the Matrix. The infinite splendor streamed all around them as they careened through virtual space. A million billion points of data flowed in rivers of light, tracing geometric patterns across the inky black sky. Neon constructs rose up from the banks – skyscrapers of impossible proportion, castles rendered in stone textures, domed arenas adorned with corporate symbols – each a carefully curated manifestation of the host’s online brand. The whole surreal landscape flickered and blurred as it loaded into view, vanishing just as quickly as it passed by. 

Soon the runners arrived at their destination; a floating temple made to resemble those of ancient Japan. Ruby columns held aloft the gilded roof, which curved and curled in an intricate canopy. From within the temple, countless threads denoting secure links to remote servers stretched across the void. Serpentine dragon statues flanked the grand entrance, which bore the name and logo of Mitsuhama Computer Technologies. 

“It’s beautiful,” said Cookie, perking up the rabbit ears she sported when in digital form. 

DosBoy, now appearing as an exaggerated, muscular version of himself with tall spikey hair, crept up to the temple gates. “I’m gonna force a connection reset, then keep it from reestablishing by spamming the channel with junk requests. How does that help us again?”

Standing beside the wire that they rode in on, Cookie looked back over the Matrix with determination. “When the uplink is severed, the Arcology defense grid endpoint will be exposed.” She clasped her soft paws together, causing shimmering pixels to converge before her, and a creature took shape. The little sprite, a spectral hedgehog with fiberoptic quills lining its back, came to rest on Cookie’s shoulder. “My friend here will replicate a Mitsuhama data packet and trigger a command to end the lockdown.”

The decker watched in slack-jawed astonishment. “Who are you, kid?”

Cookie replied only with a sly smile. 

DosBoy chopped the glowing wire with the edge of his hand. The line split, then retracted like a taught elastic. As it went, the hedgehog sprite leapt from its perch and hitched a ride on the channel back the way the runners had come.

Within the cloud of smoke, Mr. Creech brought his might to bear against the blinded guards. He caught one with a sidewise punch to the chest, and felt ribs snap under his fist. Another came into view, unloading a few rounds into the Troll’s arm as he spun to attack. Roaring with pain, he palmed the man’s head and tossed him like a ragdoll into the thick smog. A third guard stuck him with a blade from behind, only to be greeted by a headbutt that caved in the reinforced visor covering his face. Crimson stains blossomed across Mr. Creech’s coat. Dizziness from the fumes and blood loss forced him out of the cloud, and he coughed violently as he rejoined his crew. 

The battered runners tucked away behind any cover they could find in the debris-strewn lobby. Sinera and Zevran had overturned a large stone planter and were huddled by Cookie and DosBoy. Bullets flew just overhead. Nursing his wounded arm Mr. Creech ducked into a relief in the wall beside the bulkhead. Hope gave way to desperation and fear. The Troll resigned himself to his fate as the guards shouted orders to advance.

Suddenly, the sounds of creaking machinery cut through the chaos. Pistons hissed as they retracted, and the shutter began to rise. A pool of sunlight spilled into the room, elongating as the metal barrier climbed higher and higher. 

“Go!” Mr. Creech bellowed hoarsely, dashing for the exit. The other runners followed suit, and dragged their unresponsive comrades through the widening gap. 

Back at the virtual temple, Cookie received a transmission from her sprite, affirming its task was completed successfully. “It worked!” she yelped, hopping up and down, cottontail aflutter. 

“Wiz!” said DosBoy, elated. “Now jack out before the ice finds us!” 

Cookie’s avatar began to dissipate in fractal shapes as she exited the digital realm. But when DosBoy attempted to do the same, he found his feet ensnared in a puddle of undulating goop. As he struggled to wrest free from the trap, sinking deeper with each movement, the dragon statues groaned to life. Their bodies twisted, shaking loose chunks of jade to reveal glistening black scales. Red eyes scanned the intruders, marking them as prey for slaughter. 

“DosBoy, look out!” Cookie cried. She reached out for the decker, but derezzed before she could grab his hand, vanishing. DosBoy watched in horror as the towering wyrms bared their spear-like fangs. He let out a scream, cut short as the dragons crashed down on top of him. 

Snapping immediately back to the physical world, Cookie awoke with a start to find herself being dragged out of the Arcology by Sinera. She glanced over to see DosBoy’s body seizing, sparks erupting from his subcutaneous tech. The girl wailed in agony and flailed against her rescuer’s pull as silvery black ichor oozed from the decker’s mouth. His body lay lifeless in the entryway to the darkened lobby, face contorted in a silent scream. 

“He’s gone,” said Sinera, her voice breaking, “We can’t save him.”

Outside, the runners panted as fresh air filled their lungs. A renewed sense of freedom, or at least a chance of it, washed over them along with the warm daylight. But when their vision adjusted to the brightness, their hearts sank. Blocking their path was a fleet of armored cars topped with flashing blue lights. A group of officers bearing the crest of the corporate police moved in on the exhausted criminals. 

“Knight Errant, on the authority of Mitsuhama Computer Technologies,” a voice boomed over loudspeaker, “Surrender now or be terminated.”

Placing his hands on his head and laying prone, Mr. Creech was shackled by the gruff Knights. He watched at a crooked angle as the rest of his team met the same fate. Hoisted upright, Zevran delivered a kick to one of the officers, who retaliated by cracking the Ork over the head with his pistol. “You’re lucky they wanted you alive, tusker!” the helmeted man sneered. Cookie wept as she and Sinera were yanked apart, both too weak to resist. The Knights swiftly rounded up the squad, collected their weapons and gear, and then thrust them into the back of a windowless transport vehicle. 

Together in manacles, the defeated runners were carted off to an unknown fate.


End file.
